"It was the best of times! It was the worst of times", repeated Wini - The Loon, but, "this time, I made tomato soup, tomato paste and recycled the Tomato Soup cans thrown primarily by famished family members from large, unshaven hairy hands covered in tattoos, tomato sauce and demonstrating an uncanny accuracy for striking their target".

Thus, spake the barely conscious Winthrop Merriment, The III, from his hospital bed following his hugely successful comedy "come back" performance before a Standing Room Only crowd of the migrant Kitchen workers forced by management to sit in the audience and pretend that they understood English and to laugh like trained seals on cue at his insipid routines.

In attendence, according to the critics, which out weighed the paid attendees 17 to 1, were two passive seeing eye dogs (that were remarkedly well-behaved - prehaps, because they were both blind, deaf and dumb. One was definitely dead, cause he was asked to leave).

The most vocal and decidedly noticable audience member was an urbane, inane, profoundly disturbed homeless person that was drawn in by the smell of lukewarm urine, tomato soup roasting over the Benson burner waffling through the back alley, where WMII is known to sleep. WMII, the father, likes to be close to "family", that's why they all cuddle up each night in the same card board box and shout out to each other, "Good night, Jon Boy and let the Bed Bugs Bite. They've Got To Eat, Too", before clubbing one and other to sleep.

"You say To-ma-toe! I say, Toe-may-to; Wouldn't It Be Great If We Both Could Spell Potato?", sang Winie "The Trey", slightly off tune and a bit incoherently, as paramedics frantically raced about his listless body in search of more places to jab him with very large needles oozing his desired painkillers - the real reason he puts himself through all of this rejection.

"The Trey", periodically repeated these wise words over and over again until two burly, unshaven, distraught orderly threw him from his hotel balcony.

Fortuitively, "The Trey", prepared for this eventuality and had stacked "slightly used" box mattresses at the base of each window, including the basement windows, in anticipation of a possible suicide leap following the bum, er, artist performance.

And, too, as a precaution, in case his critics tried again to toss him up from the basement window to the street level where he might be pummeled by old ladies demanding back support payments.

Thankfully, this plot by his multiple Mothers was foiled due to an alert night watchman, who seeing the ruckus and thinking that it was a "burglary in progress", clubbed our poor, misunderstood "Winnie" unconscious with an industrial strength flashlight and immediately had rauckus sex with all of them.

Despite the sparse, mostly tubercular audience, the delusional Winthrop Merriment, "The Trey", declared his "Come Back Appearance" a success, though local authorities cited it as a "public nuisance".

Undaunted, "Wini - Not The Damn Bear", celebrated by not taking his own life, as promised, which disappointed most, if not all of his fans, who were cheering wildly, "Jump you bastard, jump!"

"Isn't it strange what a room full of ex-wives, ex-lovers, jilted-imaginary play mates and deaf, lifeless inflatable dolls will do when deeply disappointed?", asked Winthrop of no one in particular.

And, no one in particular, responded: "Aw shut the f*&^ Up, you bitch. We all heard much of this already!" At which point she/he did! And the pre-planned can assualt went forth in full force providing Wintrope Merridethe, The III, and his brood sustenance for the entire bleak winter.

Released, now, from the grip of the 800 pound Gorilla on his back, Winie has vowed to "wow" the world with his satirical wit by booking a year long engagement through "Shameful Productions & Dissatisfying Performances That Gurantees To Turn Audiences Away By The Thousand", currently, scheduled for a dumpster in your hometown. Tickets holders will be paid $15.00 to attend per performance, courtesy of the Koch Brothers Head Shop and Graft Company.

From his hospital bed, Winie whispered to this reporter, Liar-Liar Pants on Fire, that the III wanted to "thank" all of his friends on newsvine.com for encouraging him to take the dreaded 45 year plunge and return to his "Stand Up, Sit Down, Roll Over" comedy roots, and not to the "root cellar", where he had remained for these four and a half decades sulking, languishing and sucking his thumb, at least, he hopes it was his thumb, since there was no light down there.

THIS IS WINTHROPE MERRIDETHE, THE III, and, per usual, I am trouble over the deep bridge by the waters of my mind and I can't get up!

Note to Reader: Please, don't pass gas or "goal" while reading this. And remember, boys and girls, no part of this Epistle may be folded, stapled, or licked. Neither shall it be torn to shreds, cursed at, or laundered without first seeking permission from one's homeroom teacher. All Hall Passes have been suspended during the making of this piece and no queers, steers, or deers were hurt. OK, maybe that one guy - but, she/he/it had it coming to her, Miss Romney, my eye! The nerve of that man/woman letting her vagina talk during my monologue.